


And they were roommates

by AssyEr



Series: The Mechs But They Are Trapped In This Reality To Pay For Their Sins [1]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Modern Era, and thats where i come in, but its only referenced on two lines at most, just some dumb fic, no beta we die like men, oh and it can be read either as romantic or platonic, oh my god they were roommates, rated teen because i think they say fuck?, set on the pandemic, the only bad thing is brian not knowing what to do about his essay, this fandom needed more badly written petty fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssyEr/pseuds/AssyEr
Summary: Brian needs to write an essay. Jonny is bored. The obvious solution is for Brian to try to teach him to use a fountain pen, emphasis on the trying.
Relationships: Drumbot Brian & Jonny d'Ville, Drumbot Brian/Jonny d'Ville
Series: The Mechs But They Are Trapped In This Reality To Pay For Their Sins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864471
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	And they were roommates

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags stated, I just wanted something dumb and happy.  
> If you don't want to read about the corona, stop at "Brian did not, in fact, know. ", and go to “Fucking right you are", six paragraphs under.  
> English is not my first language, but microsoft word said it was okay, so here it is.

“Can you believe I already went through every song?” Jonny groaned as he entered the room. He threw himself on the coach, getting his legs on the armrest.

“Yes, I can, because we live in the same apartment and I had the honour of witnessing your concert", Brian answered from the desk, without looking up.

Jonny had come here with the sole purpose of having fun, get distracted from the never-ending nothingness his life had become, and honestly he was feeling so attacked right now. He hadn’t even given the drumbot any reason for such aggression.

He had been a good roommate, the best one could ever ask for. He had refrained himself from bothering Brian all day –had even made him lunch! And, if he had been noisy, well, he was a person too.

Brian ignored his groan.

He just kept doing what he was doing, paying no attention to the drama of his roommate. He needed to finish summarizing the Consequentialism papers, and then study and come up with some sort of thesis, write about it. Maybe he could compare it with the deontology essay they had made them analyse...

“...and I just feel like I don’t exist sometimes, you know?” Jonny told him.

…and he had to email it to his professor in, like, what, a week? Two? God, he had already lost sense of time, which he really shouldn’t, because he was already behind his schedule, and…

Wait.

Jonny had told him something, hadn’t he? About an existential crisis? And he was looking at him, expecting an answer. To if he knew?

Brian did not, in fact, know.

“It can get rough sometimes", he tried.

“Yes, it bloody can!” Brian figured that he had evaded that bullet. “And we can't do anything! A bloody virus it had to be, the only reason that prick is that small is because it knows that if it gets any bigger I would get out and just stab and End With It.”, Jonny said, anger bleeding on his words.

Brian turned around to face him at hearing that last comment.

“But you won’t, because that’s impossible and you don’t want to make this pandemic any worse”. He prayed for a confirmation.

He really, really hoped for a confirmation.

“Of course I won’t! Who do you think I am, a capitalist?” he said, indignant.

“Not even in ten millennia”

“Fucking right you are" he got up, and walked towards the desk. “What are you doing? Consequentialism? Weren’t you going to write about dendrology?”

Brian reclined on his chair. “Deontology”, he corrected. “And yes, but then I found some cool essay... I will probably end up comparing them". He shoved his head on his hands.

This was all a mess. He couldn’t even choose a topic, and he needed to have a first sketch of the work for three days ago. He should forget about consequentialism, go back to his first idea, at least he had some points already written on that.

“That sounds like a pain in the ass", Jonny commented.

“I don’t know about the ass, but my head is killing me", he said, without lifting it from his arms.

He had been working on the damn thing since 6 am, and it was almost 9pm. He still had the plate of food that Jonny had gave him at the side, the re-heated burrito half eaten.

He needed a shower.

He couldn’t take a shower, not now. He needed to take all this half written draft, and throw it somewhere where it could never be found (even better, give it to Jonny to burn and satisfy his need for destruction for a few days), and go back to his first one. The thing he had been working for more time, but now seemed so full of plot holes, comparing it to consequentialism, and why had he even thought it was worth something.

He just wanted to kill everyone that had ever sinned and thus birthed all this philosophical melodrama.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Jonny asked, picking the burrito and eating it. “We should both do something to distract ourselves. Watch a movie or something.”

“We already watched all Netflix" he answered.

“We can’t have watched all of it".

“We watched all the good Netflix, and I refuse to watch Nailed It”

“Killjoy" he muttered, taking the plate to the sink. “Aren’t you tired of just, writing? I didn’t see you do anything else in all day". He continued from the other room.

There was no water sound, of course. It was Brian’s turn to wash the dishes, and Jonny’s on cocking. But he did heard what seemed like some glasses and plates against each other.

He had a theory, that Jonny only washed half of what he had to, hiding the rest to reveal them later on Brian’s turn. No evidence has been found, yet (except for the excessive amount of dishes he constantly found himself doing), so no confrontation had been possible. But he was determined to find his hiding place, and when he figured it out he would make that little rat pay…

“That’s what you do when you have to present an essay. An important essay", he said, tough more to himself than for the man currently kneeling trying to get a can of red bull from under a chair. He really needed to get back to it.

But, looking back at all the papers, and the things he hadn’t even started to read. He really didn’t want to.

“I object. All that can’t be healthy, as you say. I bet your hand is killing you right now". Brian decided not to comment on the hypocrisy of a man drinking a can of red bull from who-knew-when in one go, giving him health advice.

“Actually, no, it’s the only reason I bother with the ink and all the mess it makes, at this point.” He moved his hand around. It was a little sore, yes, but nothing as bad as when he used normal pens, as he tended to use more force and just continuously stab the paper.

He didn’t want to go back to it, but what else was he supposed to do?

“Bullshit"

He opened his mouth to object, when an idea came to him.

He really shouldn’t. He had to finish it, he was already behind his schedule.

But, looking at the papers, imagining himself writing...

He took a decision.

“Jonny? Would you like to try?” he rolled his chair towards him.

“Wha'?” Jonny asked, with a piece of bread on his mouth.

Brian did not try to speculate where he got it, as he hadn’t returned to the kitchen.

“If you would like to try writing with my fountain pen,” Brian explained himself.

“Wha' for?”

“You did say that you were bored, and I can teach you.” And I really, really don’t want to ponder whether the means always justified the end, he didn’t add. “Besides,” he said, offering him something more attractive, “you could write obscene things in big gothic letters", knowing him for the dramatic bitch he was.

Jonny thought about it. He decided to make his sixteen years old self proud.

“Why the fuck not, sure", he said and went to sit next to him. The desk wasn’t very big, it was designed for one person, and the chair from the table Jonny took was way bigger than the wheely one Brian was currently sitting on. But they managed. “So, what do I have to do?”

He saw him unscrew the pen.

“Well, apparently I'm out of ink. Just let me refill it and...” he said, showing him the empty cartridge inside. He started looking for the bottle.

“I wanna do it" Jonny cut him.

Brian looked at him, perplexed at his interest.

“Are you sure? It can get kind of messy, and-"

He interrupted him again.

“You said you were gonna teach me, I don’t want to just know half the stuff. That’s stupid"

He had a point. Whether it justified the sure end of ink being spilled everywhere was not a question he wanted to ponder on.

“All right, all right. Just let me get some newspaper first, because this is going to be a disaster and ink is hard to get off the table". He went looking inside the drawers.

Jonny was quick to defend his pride. “Hey! What do you know, maybe I will do it just fine. How hard can it really be?” he ventured.

Brian ignored him, in favour of reason.

Once the newspaper was settled, and he had changed his t-shirt (it wasn’t one he was willing to sacrifice to Jonny's mischief), he sat again at the desk, now with a bottle of black ink, a syringe and the empty cartridge.

“This is the cartridge, it holds the ink inside the pen to the nib,” he started to explain. “There are special cartridges that allows you to fill them from the bottle of ink alone, but those are fucking expensive, so I stick to the disposables one that came with the pen.

This one is already open and used, of course. Normally, I would have to wash the remaining ink away, as not to cause the colours to mix, or any bad stuff to get trapped and then flow to the nib, which can be a pain in the ass, but given that I just finished it and we are using the same colour its fine.

First thing, you have to fill the syringe. The cartridge can hold a few millimetres- No! Jonny! That’s too much! Stop already!”

Jonny, who had been bored by the explanation and was happy to finally be given something to do, had grabbed the syringe and shoved it inside the bottle. He had filled a third of it when he registered his roommate screaming at him to stop.

“Uh?” he said, getting the thing off. The whole needle was black and dripping. Brian wanted to cry at the sight.

“Just- let me see if you broke the needle”. He grabbed some paper towels to clean the thing.

“I did not!” Jonny protested at being stolen of his new toy.

Brian was having none of it. “I swear that if you broke it and now there’s a piece of metal in the bottle...” he stated as he examined closely the end.

“And I swear that I did not break it! It’s not as if I was trying to stab the ink." Brian was being completely unreasonable, he wasn’t that much of a brute.

“...could have fooled me,” he mumbled.

“I heard that!”

It turned out that Jonny had not, miraculously, broke the needle, tough Brian made a mental note to throw it away when he wasn’t looking. Just in case. He had plenty of those, anyway.

Against every instinct, he returned it to the man. Jonny extended the hand to accept it, but at the last moment Brian retreated it.

Jonny was about to say something, but he was cut. “If we continue with this, I need you to promise me that you’ll wait for me to tell you what to do"

“Yeah, yeah, now gimme...” he shook his extended hand.

“Jonny”

“I promise, okay? I promise I will wait and hear your boring instructions before doing anything"

Brian looked at him for a moment, trying to catch what exactly he didn’t know (an ulterior motive? He didn’t need one of those for everything to go wrong), but gave him the syringe at not finding it.

“Good.” He said, when no immediate disaster followed the action. “Now, you need to pour most of the ink back to the bottle"

“Can't I do that after filling the cartridge? It feels like a waste of time if I’m just gonna run out and need to fill it again.”

“You just need millimetres- I'll tell you if you pour too much"

Reluctantly, Jonny did as told, but stopped when it was almost done.

“I think this is enough”, he said about the ink.

“Jonny, that’s too much. It’s like, twice as much" Brian tried to make him see reason.

Of course he didn’t see any.

“It can't be! The cartridge's not that small."

“I have been using it for years! I got a better idea of how much ink fits”

“And those years clearly clouded your sense of space,” he argued, if it could be called that.

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He had known what he was getting into, trying to combine Jonny and ink. It was still better than that stupid essay, he reminded himself.

Tough the essay understood logic.

“You are just going to stain everything black" he mumbled through his hands.

“Seems like you beat me on that”, Jonny said with a stupid, audible grin.

He quickly got his hands out of his face, and looking at them. The idiot was right. There, on the side of his middle and ring finger, were black stains, smudged.  
Why was he surprised. He had been using ink for years now, and it was a rule that he must always stain something.

Using a part of his hand that he was sure was clean (and inspecting it again for safety reasons), he passed it over his face. He looked back at it, and yes, there was black ink on it.

“I am going to clean, do not do anything while I’m not here" Brian told him, trying to cast a severe look on his face, and went to the kitchen.

He had just opened the tap when he heard Jonny.

“I'm filling the cartridge!” he screamed at him from the other room.

Brian let out a sight. It was his fault for having hope.

“Just, don’t press the syringe hard! It needs barely any force! It will spill otherwise!” he yelled back at him, because he knew he was going to do it anyway, so it was better if he could at least tell him told you so while cleaning his mess.

Jonny did not acknowledge his advice. A moment after, he heard him cursing.

“Jonny?” Silence. “Jonny, what did you do”. It wasn’t a question.

Nothing yet from the other room.

He closed the tap and went to see what he had done.

The syringe at the side was empty, and the needle black again. Next to it was the cartridge, covered in ink. It hadn’t started to drip yet, because of superficial tension and the small size of the hole prevented it, but the thing was next to Jonny, so he had no doubt that it would soon make an even worse disaster, physics laws be dammed.

Jonny, who had been trying to clean his hands on the newspaper (forgetting that it was also full of ink and getting his hands blacker), and was now looking up at him like a child caught mid-mischief.

Brian pointed at the kitchen. “Go wash your hands", he ordered.

He was quick to compel.

Brian went to the desk, wondering where to start.

“And use paper towels to dry them!” he added to him, fearing for the future of their rags.

By the time he got back, he had changed the newspaper and thrown the needle. He had also cleaned the cartridge, and therefore properly dyed his hands black. Again.

Pushing Jonny with his elbow, he got them both back to the kitchen.

“What’re we doing here?” Jonny asked, examining his hands again in case he missed a spot.

“I need to wash my hands, and I don’t trust you on your own". He opened the water tap.

Jonny opened his mouth, but then closed it, having apparently thought better. He climber and sat on the counter, watching Brian clean the ink away.

He didn’t understand why Brian was making such a fuss about washing. Most of the time he had black spots on his hands, and he had never seemed bothered by it. Yes, those spots were considerably smaller than what he had now. But the point still stood.

He took his time with the washing. Jonny, left to his own devices to entertain himself, started counting the plates next to the sink. Then, the glasses. Then, the forks and knives and spoons. Most of it was from the day before, because he hadn’t felt like doing the dishes, and so had hidden them on the cabinet below the sink, behind the cleaning stuff. They were safe there, because no one would open it unless they absolutely had to.

And he had no clue, he thought, dangling his legs. It was the perfect crime.

When they were back on the table, Brian handed him the cartridge and a paper napkin rolled up, because he was an idiot that still held hope.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” he asked, also surprised by his actions.

“There’s too much ink inside, so we need to get rid of it. The fastest- and safest way to do so is to put the tip of the napkin on the hole- like that, yes, thank you for waiting for me to finish.” He sighed, but watched with Jonny as the paper turned black from the bottom up.

After a short moment it stopped, but there was still too much ink for his liking inside. “Now you do the same with the other end", he told him, and saw him do exactly that.

Once the cartridge had reached a safe level and the napkin was safely disposed, Brian carried on with the explanation.

He grabbed his pen and unscrew it open. “See that tiny conduct? It goes inside the hole of the cartridge- No, not yet, you are going to listen!” he said, getting the pen away from his hands. “It gets the ink to the nib, but it can make a mess if it’s not properly put- that’s a disaster I am not interested in cleaning.” He made a pause for dramatic effect. “Normally, you would hear a pop, but the cartridge is old, so it doesn’t really make any sound. So, what you’re going to do is put the cartridge standing- yes, like that- and slowly, going from no force to barely any force, you will press this part on it" he said, giving him the half with the nib.

Jonny was surprisingly gentle, taking his time. Once Brian checked that it was well put, he gave him the other part of the pen and told him to screw it, while he got some paper.

“Now, it will take the ink a little while to start flowing-". He should have seen it coming.

“What? _Why?_ How long exactly? I don’t want to wait half an hour just sitting here watching the paint dry"

“A few seconds! A minute at most!” Jonny huffed a fine. “And, for the record, it’s because of the density of the liquid".

“I knew that", he said, talking about the fact he had just learned.

“Of course", he answered back, perfectly aware of it.

A moment of silence.

“Do you want me to explain you meanwhile what you’ll have to do?” he proposed.

“Yes, please", Jonny said, glad that the silence was over.

“Okay, first show me how you grab a pencil. What- no. That’s not- How- that’s just wrong” he said, watching at the abomination that Jonny had made with his fingers. He took the pen and gave him a pencil.

To his horror, he grabbed it the same way that before- with all five of his left fingers holding it by the point, not a single one used for support. It seemed like he was trying to make a hand gesture but someone had shoved a pencil into it.

“I would like to make it clear that that" he pointed at his hand, “is an abomination. Whoever taught you to hold a pencil should go to jail". Jonny rolled his eyes. He would have also liked for him to rot in jail, but oh well, death had come first for him than the police. What a shame.

“Look, try it like this". Brian grabbed a pencil the right way.

He tried to imitate him, but it was ratter difficult when the person is showing you with the opposite hand, and you also have no patience.

“No, just- let me" Brian took his hand, carefully rearranging the fingers. “Isn’t this a bit more comfortable?”

“No", he said, like an eight years old. “What am I supposed to do with the rest of the fingers, anyway? And my wrist hurts"

“That’s because you are holding it too tight, you don’t need to use force at all" he tried to release the pressure of his fingers a little. “Like this. This is all the force you need. The pencil won’t try to escape if you treat it decently". He let go of his hand once he was happy with the result.

Jonny, to his credit, did keep it that way. He also kept it very still, watching it carefully.

“Right. Now, try to hold the pen that way", he instructed him.

He studied his hand a second more, before grabbing the pen and recreating the position to the best of his memory. He fidgeted a little before showing it to Brian.

He took his hand again, careful now so Jonny could see what he did.

“This goes a bit back, or you will end with black spots all over”, he said as he moved his middle finger. “This two never move,” his index and thumb, “and you'll want to have it with an inclination of 45°-"

“Do I look like a meteorologist to you?”

“Fuck off. Like this", he arranged the pen. Jonny moved his hand to adapt. “For example, pretend you're going to write- Do Not Write Yet”. He didn’t let go of his hands until he finished speaking.

“Yeah, yeah. Like this?” he said, getting ready to write in the paper before him.

“Not quite. First, you want your hand to be more on the side, never exactly below your line. And you also want your arm to take plenty of space next to it, you’re going to move it more than normal". Jonny did as he was told, and Brian interfered to arrange his arm.

“You use your arm as much as your wrist when using a fountain pen, or at least that’s the theory. That’s why they don’t make your wrist hurt after using it a lot.”

“My wrist already hurts", he complained.

“Yes, but that’s because you are holding it like a normal person, it’s not used to that. And besides, you are all tense. Relax it a little, do circles like this” he made circles in the air with his hands, encouraging Jonny to copy him.

“This is stupid", he said, while doing so.

Brian resisted the urge to tell him that his face was stupid.

“What’s stupid is your hate for writing utensils. They won’t eat your hand, I promise" he joked at him. The part about his hate was true, tough.

They kept at it, doing various exercises that Brian knew from when he had started only to find himself with the same problem. After a while, Jonny seemed much more relaxed (and bored, which was a danger on all that was near), and so he decided to proceed with the explanation.

“Okay, now Jonny pay attention because this is really important.” He waited until he was sure he was listening to him. “Do you know that feeling when you run something against metal? Well, you must avoid that. _At all costs._ That means that you’re pressing too hard against the paper, and it can permanently damage the nib", he told him.

Jonny went rigid at his words. “I... You really use the pen, and I just... I don’t want to break it, I know this are expensive". He looked at his hand, biting his lip.

“No, no" Brian was quick to reassure him. “I didn’t mean it like that. You would need to use it a lot to do anything so permanent". Tough it was nice of him to worry.

“Are you sure? It sounds like delicate shit. You know I’m no good with that kind of shit.”

“It’ll be fine, I promise. I will tell you if you’re doing anything wrong,” he gave him a small smile.

“If you say so.” He still sounded uncertain.

“I do. Now,” he changed the topic, “the weight of the pen will make it write on its own, you only need to direct it. The ink will flow alone, but if it stops for some reason, you just go to the side of the sheet and make lines until it flows nice again”. He took the pen for a moment, and drew a vertical line. “There are a few basic traces if you want to go with the fancy writing, as I imagine you do"

“What’s the point of having a fancy-ass pen if you don’t write in a fancy-ass font?” he joked.

“Exactly. So, the vertical line should go like this, with the points cut in angles. If you want, you can also put nice ends to it" he did another vertical line, but this time instead of raising the pen at the end, he gave it a thin line upwards.

He continued. “Then, there is the horizontal line. You start from above the line, and end below it. You can make it as curvy or straight as you want.”

“I haven’t made a single straight thing in my life, and I’m not starting now"

Brian decides to ignore the bad joke. “The same way you make a point, but shorter. Then, to make a circle, you divide it in two traces, like this.” He made an O, with the halves separated.

“There,” he said, giving the pen back. “Try to make the traces a couple of times. You can hold it a little bit tighter" he offered at seeing the pen wiggle. He took his advice, tough didn’t press as much as it would be comfortable for him, probably.

It was fine. He would make a couple mistakes, and it would take him a while to get confident, but it was fine. There was some beauty on it, Brian would even dare to say. His furrowed brow, how he bit his cheeks in concentration. The focused way his eyes looked at every trace he made, trying to get the next one better. How the rest of the world seemed to disappear for him, creating a whole new universe inside this one, one in which only he and the paper existed and Brian was just witnessing.

It was quite a look on the man, he admitted to himself.

Jonny noticed his staring. Not knowing what to say, he simply stated “I make everything wobbly", interrupting his gay longing.

Brian took a look to the page. The traces were, indeed, wobbly.

“It just takes practice, don’t worry.” An idea came to him. “I think I got some calligraphy paper in my room. Be right back.” He got up and went for them, leaving the man alone practising the lines.

His room was messy, to say the least. There were books on the floor, because the furniture was already covered in stacks of papers and, well, decisions had to be made. There were also some sticky notes in the walls, different colours depending on what was on them. And his clothes had been shoved at one side in the wardrobe, to make space to some hauls and boxes full of things that had lost its territory to his study material.

So, Brian was not ashamed of the fact that it took him a while to find the sheets. He was actually proud of having found them at all. He returned to Jonny with a smile.

“I got them!” he said, startling Jonny, and putting it on the table.

Jonny for his part shoved the sheet he had been writing in to the side, hiding it below other papers.

“This's for writing?” he asked, looking at the page as if it had a head.

Which might have, Jonny thought, because he could barely distinguish one line from another, all of different colours.

“Don’t say it like that, it's helpful. I actually designed it myself”, he proudly stated. “Looks, the black lines are your actual lines, the normal ones. The red ones are to indicate the height of the lowercase, and the green ones a fancy uppercase. The pink’s are the space that should remain white between lines. The blue ones are in diagonal at 45 degrees to practise cursive inclination. It's not hard once you get used to it".

“I beg to differ".

“Fuck off. Look, just look at the black and red ones, ignore the rest. You could try cursive, if you want, or I can show you a font I made when I got the pen, to learn to use it.” He took the pen, ready to show him.

That last part caught Jonny’s attention.

“Brian?” he asked him, amusement on his voice.

Brian, who had already started to write his alphabet, looked up from the paper, confused at his tone.

“...Yes?”

“Am I wrong to assume that, as soon as you got this fancy ass pen, you immediately went to create your own font like some pompous middle aged Victorian man?”

Brian looked down to the page. “I don’t know what you are talking about", he muttered, blush on his face.

“You did! Oh, I knew you were a Romantic in the most boring sense of the word, but this is a whole new level"

“I did not!” he lied.

“Yes you did! Admit it!”

“Jonny, I can assure you that I did not"

“Oh. Well, now that I think of it, it doesn’t make sense"

Brian was not an idiot, and would not fall to his trap. Instead, he looked at him quite intensely, until he dropped the punch.

“Why wait until it got home to design it, when you could daydream about it every night before sleeping"

Sometimes, Brian wished Jonny was immortal, so he could shoot him in the face when he got this annoying. But then, that would probably mean that he would be immortal as well, and he had the feeling that he would get shot more often.

But a man could dream.

“I should never had shown decency towards you". He kept to his letters.

“Wait, you actually did that? I thought Nastya was the freak, but you really are a fucking nerd, aren’t you?”

Brian decided to take it no more.

“Oh, I am the nerd now? You know, I’ve heard you practise harmonica in the shower, _before it even arrived to the flat._ You hum quite loudly"

“I did not". Now Jonny was the embarrassed one.

“And you know what else? I have recordings of you pretending to play it. Whole audios of it. They are secure in my cloud, under two passwords. And don’t get me started on your drama microphone, don’t think I didn’t notice how you carried it everywhere for a month".

“You didn’t".

“Oh, yes I did"

“You delete all of that right now!”

“Or else?” he said, grin as big as Cheshire’s.

“You, asshole” he said, going for his hair and pulling from a handful.

Forgetting all about the fountain pen and the ink, Brian went for Jonny’s ear, tugging at it. Jonny let out a cry, and took a bite of his arm.

“You cannibalistic savage!” he shoved his face away with his hand on his forehead, away from his teeth.

The savage threw a bite to the air anyway, failing to catch anything, but took some yellow highlighter that was on the desk, and attacked his face.

“You’re a dick." Brian armed himself with a marker.

“I also have a nice personality, you pompous piece of brass." Jonny tried to avoid his fury, but it only resulted on him falling from his chair. Soon enough, Brian was on top of him with five different colours.

“You almost bite my arm off!” he sat on his stomach, pinning him to the ground.

“I barely touched you!” he defended himself, completely ignoring the red and white marks he had left on his roommates' arm.

His roommate, who was having the time of his life painting his face five different colours while he struggled in vain to get his hands away from him.

Once satisfied with the results, and feeling that he had adequately avenged himself, Brian took a picture of his artwork. Jonny fought with all his might, tried even to steal the phone, but his short arms were no match to the bastard's normal ones, who ended up taking lots of photos.

Most of them ended blurred, and in some the face wasn’t even visible, but there were one or two that were okay.

Brian showed those to him, so he could appreciate the masterpiece.

“Fuck you" was all the feedback he got.

“Make me dinner first" he answered, getting off of him (but not before saving the pictures, just in case Jonny tried something).

He groaned on the floor, remembering that it was his turn at making food. “I fucking hate cocking...” he complained.

“Tough", said Brian from above, outside his point of view.

He kept moping down below.

“And you can’t just reheat this week’s leftovers and call it food!” he screamed at him from the bathroom, starting the shower.

“Ugh”

It was past midnight, and Brian was asleep, Jonny had made sure of it. He had passed across his room like ten times, with a variety of excuses from going to the bathroom (‘The bathroom is in the other direction, Jonny' ‘Right') to needing a glass of whiskey. But the lights have been off the last three times, and no instrument could be heard from the room, so he went along with the recovery mission.

Carefully, he made his way to the desk as silent as it was humanly possible for Jonny. Which is to say, he was lucky Brian was a deep sleeper.

It wasn’t hard to find, it still was on the pile of papers he had first shoved it into, and Brian always kept the desk organized. He took the sheet and folded it in half two times, trying his hardest not to look at the contents.

He failed, of course.

There were the neat lines Brian had made for him to practice, and his messier copies. But he had gotten bored of just doing the same while he waited for him, so he tried to do some fun letters. When he also got bored of that, some fancy words.

He wrote the name of their band, The Mechanisms, and each of their albums, trying to give each one a font that matched their styles. Then, his name. Then, his real name (that he ended angrily crossing out). Finally, smaller, Brian's.

And if it looked tidier and better done than the others, it was pure coincidence.

Coincidence or not, he could never know. He shoved the paper on his pocket.

Jonny looked at the alphabet he had done for him, and the calligraphy sheets. He almost wished things had ended differently, he had wanted to give the thing a try. Maybe he could convince him to teach him again, arguing that he had never finished on the first place.

While returning to his room, he passed Brian's. The door was half open, and he could see the dick sleeping under the covers. His long hair was loose over the pillows and made a mess.

He was also biting the tail of one stuffed animal on his sleep.

He took a picture with his phone, and went back to look for markers.

Vendetta, motherfucker.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was bored and stressed, and ended up having lots of fun. Why not add the mortifying ordeal of being known, I thought to myself. Also, is the first thing that I wrote and did anything with, and I'm still learning to write, so there's that.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


End file.
